


Space

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Super Lovers (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Sexual Fantasy, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 11:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11058021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "He keeps hoping it’ll go away. It would be nice if this were something he outgrew, some misplaced desire formed from youthful hormones and the awkward arousal that seems nigh-constant, through the years of middle school." Aki finds sharing a room with Shima to be challenging for a variety of reasons until Shima takes matters into his own hands.





	Space

Aki hates sharing a room with Shima.

It wasn’t as much of a problem when they were younger. Aki was always more interested in playing with their shared toys than Shima was, or at least more likely to throw a fit in the event he didn’t get his way; in practice the room was as good as his, with the passive presence of his twin there as a ready-made playmate when he got tired of playing alone or wanted someone to stand as token opposition to the wars he would wage against block castles or sprawling train tracks. Shima always went along with what Aki wanted without batting an eye, often without any protest at all; and if Aki noticed any difference between Shima’s submissiveness and Haru’s greater resistance, he never thought much of it beyond being aware that Shima made for a better partner in the games he devised.

That started to change in middle school, when they hit their growth spurt in lockstep with each other and the narrow walls of their bedroom became suddenly claustrophobic over what felt like the gap between one night and the next. Aki couldn’t help himself from interrupting Shima’s studying, sometimes by force and sometimes just by picking a fight, until finally Shima moved into the spare bedroom and left Aki entirely to his own devices. Aki had thought that was what he wanted, had grinned satisfaction the whole time Shima was collecting his things to move from one room to the other; but that night he laid awake in the oppressive silence of his bedroom, listening to the sound of his heart beating without anyone else’s breathing to help fill the echoing quiet of the space around him, and the next day he had been more irritable than ever, as if the evening spent alone was enough to drive him absolutely insane. Shima had let him go on sleeping, or rather not-sleeping, alone for almost a week; until one day over breakfast, when Shima said “That study is big enough for a bedroom, if we move the computer into our old room, Aki,” without even bothering to look up from his eggs, and that was that. Everything was moved in the span of a few sweaty hours, and that night Aki had fallen asleep to the soft murmur of his brother’s breathing from the bed returned to where it belonged on the other side of the room.

That didn’t solve the problem. Aki had his suspicions about the root of the cause after that first interlude, when Shima’s absence left him feeling as jittery and unbalanced as if he had lost a limb; once puberty properly set in and  he started jerking off almost every night in the shower, it became wholly impossible to ignore. Aki has plenty of pretty girls in his class, with dark lashes and long hair and bodies just starting to curve into the promise of maturity; but as his fantasies steady into regularity he finds himself thinking of broad shoulders more than narrow ones, of strong jawlines instead of feminine delicacy. And worse of all: the specifics of the face he pictures are unmistakable, the narcissism of his own features but cast into more calm, set behind the frames of the glasses he knows from the nightstand across the room from him, and the thought of a familiar voice breaking high and moaning over his name is always what pushes him over the edge into the shuddering relief of pleasure under the grip of his hand.

He keeps hoping it’ll go away. It would be nice if this were something he outgrew, some misplaced desire formed from youthful hormones and the awkward arousal that seems nigh-constant, through the years of middle school; but then he starts high school, and he and Shima move into the shared bedroom Haru sets up for them in his new house, and Aki’s desire utterly fails to fade as he hopes it will. If anything it steadies, settling into the back of his head like it’s making a home there, until Shima’s is the first face he thinks of when he reaches for a fantasy, until it costs him true effort to hold to the illusion of thinking of anyone else. It’s pointless to fight it, he decides one day, standing under the spray of the shower with his skin prickling with the aftereffects of pleasure and his breathing gasping to heat in his chest; the best he can do is live with it, carry the secret within his chest like the burden it is and let his own awareness of his feelings go utterly unstated for however many years they insist on lingering.

He’s not going to interrupt Shima’s romantic prospects. That’s what he decides first and foremost, establishing it in his head as a fixed rule his first year of high school. Shima’s quiet and introverted, spending more time studying than pursuing those few casual relationships he ends up in; but someday he’s sure to find someone serious, Aki tells himself, and when that day comes Aki won’t do anything to stand in his brother’s way. He’ll gracefully step aside, will bite his tongue and smile in assumed happiness and hope that maybe Shima’s romantic bliss will give Aki a chance to move on from his own unvoiced feelings. That’s what he tells himself, that’s what he dedicates himself to; and then Shima starts tutoring Natsukawa Ai, and all of Aki’s noble goals disintegrate with a single glimpse of the way she looks at Shima.

It’s the worst fight they’ve ever had. Aki can remember shouting matches when they were children, yelled insults and the occasional projectile of a pillow or a toy; but those blew over quickly, were forgotten within the hour to leave them friends again by the time they returned to their shared room. But this: Aki seethes for days, feeling jealousy burn like acid in his stomach while Shima continues about his life in blissful ignorance of both Natsukawa’s interest and Aki’s building temper. It culminates in a late-night fight, Shima with his jaw set on determination and Aki shaking with emotion far more intense than the situation calls for. He can’t explain himself, can’t offer any rational explanation for his response; all he can do is lash out with steadily fraying patience, feeling the walls of his own carefully constructed facade crumble, until he’s finally standing in front of Shima breathless and flushed and horribly certain that he’s given his secret away. Shima doesn’t say anything, doesn’t comment on how irrational Aki’s fury is and doesn’t offer a possible explanation for the other’s emotions beyond the stated one; he just looks at him, the cool of his gaze weighing and measuring with a deliberate care that makes Aki’s spine prickle with discomfort, and then he turns to go outside anyway. Aki retreats to their shared room, seething and hurt and as miserable as he has ever been, and lies in bed to stare at the wall without the least hope of obtaining sleep for himself. Shima is going to leave him, it’s obvious, Shima is going to fall in love with the quiet, studious girl so much like him, and he’s going to leave Aki behind; and Aki finds himself gasping sobs into the muffling soft of his pillow as he wonders how he ever could have thought he could bear this in peace.

And then Shima comes back.

Aki had thought him lost, had thought his secret revealed, had thought everything undone well beyond anything in his power to fix. But Shima comes back that night, and is still there the next day; and he doesn’t break open Aki’s secret, doesn’t call out the irrationality of his brother’s hysterical reaction. He submits to it, gives way to Aki’s demands, asks for his _permission_ to continue with the path he has set for himself; and when Aki ducks his head into agreement he can feel his skin prickling with the weight of Shima’s gaze on him, with the silent, unstated understanding hanging thick as smoke in the air between them.

And so it has come to this, now: Aki alone in the room they share, with a volume of manga open in front of him and his gaze fixed unseeing on the page in front of him as he listens for the sound of low conversation downstairs to give way, waits for the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs to the door. It would be easier, he thinks, if he could lock the door, turn the bolt and throw himself into bed and jerk off quick and rushed to the dark of Shima’s eyes and the duck of his head and the voluntary surrender in that question, _is that okay?_ as if he needs Aki’s permission, as if he’s giving way to the other’s dominance willingly instead of pushing back against it. But it’s Shima’s room as much as it is Aki’s, the space shared out between the two of them even more than Haru and Ren share the overlarge bedroom Haru has claimed for himself, and so Aki has to wait, jittery with the inevitability of Shima’s arrival and wholly lacking anywhere he can retreat to to work off the worst of his frustrations. He hates it, hates being patient, hates having to wait on something he can’t completely count on; and he doesn’t dare leave and risk missing Shima entirely. The idea is worse even than the waiting, the thought of going out and missing whatever interaction they are going to have impossible to bear; and Aki knows _something_ is going to happen, knows it with all the uncanny certainty that he sometimes can feel in regards to Shima, like he’s getting an echo of the other’s intentions over whatever bond they have between them. So he stays where he is, tapping his fingers against the edge of the desk and rocking back in his chair and getting up to pace up and down the room in a futile effort to work off some of his anxiety; and then the door comes open all at once, and Shima is there before Aki has a chance to even pause his motion.

He stops at once, jerking to a halt a few short feet away from the door where his brother has just entered. Shima has his hand on the doorknob, is staring straight at Aki; for a moment they’re gazing full into each other’s faces, with all the calm on Shima’s and all the tight-wound anxiety on Aki’s fully visible to each other. Aki can feel himself going red as self-consciousness takes the place of that impatience, as adrenaline drops the bottom out of his stomach to leave him feeling like he’s in free-fall; and when he speaks the words come from that frustration more than any rationality, from a desperate attempt to salvage his composure from the wreckage Shima’s too-silent entry made of it.

“ _Finally_ ,” he blurts, and that isn’t at all what he meant to say but it’s what he’s saying now, that one word is pulling others behind it and leaving him helpless to resist the spill of emotion from his lips. “I thought you were going to leave me waiting all day.” He gets his mouth closed, then, forcing his lips together as he feels his face color to brilliant crimson with embarrassment; but the words are said, the too-much admission already hanging in the air between them.

Shima doesn’t laugh. Shima doesn’t smile, doesn’t so much as blink. He just looks at Aki, gazing at the other like he didn’t hear his words at all, or maybe like he’s processing them with all the silent acceptance of a computer; and then he steps forward into the room, moving past the entrance so he can push the weight of the door carefully shut again behind him. The weight of it clicks into place, settling against the frame with a soft noise that nonetheless runs hot down the whole of Aki’s spine; and then Shima ducks his head, deliberately breaking the eye contact they’ve maintained, and every inch of Aki’s body goes flame-hot with that one gesture of surrender.

“I’m sorry,” Shima says, in that tone that always manages to fall somewhere between irony and sincerity. “I didn’t realize you were waiting on me.”

Aki swallows, feels the motion working over the tension in his throat; but Shima is looking down, the dip of his lashes and the tilt of his head granting Aki confidence to match the surrender clear in the other’s expression, and it’s easy to step forward into that, to move closer to cover the gap between them even as Aki’s heart pounds harder and his breath catches steam-hot in his chest.

“Of course I was,” he says, and reaches past Shima’s head to brace his hand against the door over the other’s shoulder. It feels like a ridiculous action, like he’s imitating a thousand television shows rather than occupying his own body; but Shima doesn’t laugh at that either, just lifts his gaze to look up over the top of his glasses at Aki. His focus is steady, his attention fixed; Aki has the brief thought that Shima can probably see him clearly even without the corrective lenses of his glasses, as close as they are now. The thought runs hot through the whole of his body, knots low in the pit of his stomach with that familiar, guilty desire; but Shima isn’t looking away, and he isn’t flinching back, and Aki doesn’t think he can make himself pull away while Shima is staring at him with so much focus in his eyes. He takes a breath and goes on speaking, shaping the words with as much confidence as he can make from the heat shaking apart all his coherency as fast as he finds it. “It’s not like I could take care of myself when you could walk in on me anytime.”

“No?” Shima says. He’s leaning back against the support of the door, his head rocked back against the flat behind him; his voice is very level, his expression is very calm. “Were you really that worried about me coming in on you jerking off?”

Aki’s face heats again, his cheeks flushing red in the span between one breath and the next. “What--I--”

“I mean,” Shima says, and lifts a hand to slide his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, so he can look through them at Aki in front of him. “It’s not like it would be the first time I heard you fantasizing about me.”

Aki chokes on his inhale. His face is glowing, now, he thinks he might not ever be able to stop blushing; but then rationality catches up to embarrassment, untangles the implication of Shima’s words from the self-consciousness they bring, and Aki gasps an inhale, his eyes going wide as he stares at Shima’s level gaze.

“You,” he starts, struggling for words while Shima watches him with calm consideration. “You _listened_ to me?”

Shima doesn’t so much as blink. “I did.”

Aki gapes at him for a moment. Embarrassment is foremost in his mind, the self-consciousness at being overheard when he thought he was effectively alone, the dizzy backtracking over all the fantasies he’s ever indulged in, wondering what he might have said, what Shima might have heard; but clear behind that and rising to greater weight with every breath is the image it implies, Shima lying still and silent in his bed listening to Aki jerking off, listening to the sound of Aki’s breathing and the whimper of his moans, listening to the sound of his own name--

“ _Pervert_ ,” Aki gasps, and then he’s reaching out without thinking at all, without imitating anyone’s behavior but his own as he grabs at Shima’s chin, bracing his fingers to pull the other’s head up and angled towards him. Shima’s lips part, his mouth opening on the start of shock at this sudden movement; and Aki leans in immediately, without waiting for Shima’s composure any more than he’s waiting on his own rationality, and crushes his mouth down against his brother’s.

Shima responds immediately. For all that his shock is clear in the open angle of his mouth and the rush of the inhale he takes against Aki’s cheek there’s no hesitation in his reaction at all; it’s like he was just waiting for Aki to move, as if his reply has been wholly defined and just waiting on the other to act. His hand comes up, his fingers brace at Aki’s head; and then he’s turning, angling himself farther into the kiss, and Aki is groaning against Shima’s mouth and licking in against the part of the other’s lips to taste the inside of Shima’s mouth against his. Shima opens his mouth wider, making space to make an offering of himself for Aki’s taking, and Aki does take, pushing back to crowd Shima up against the door behind him as he takes a step in so close his chest brushes Shima’s, his shirt catches at the friction of the other’s against him. Aki’s hand drops from Shima’s chin, falling to reach and fumble for the other’s waist instead, to find a hold against the soft fall of cloth; and Shima arches up towards him, curving away from the door to press close against Aki’s body. Their knees bump, Aki feels the fingers at the back of his head tighten and pull, and then Shima’s hips fit against his own, and Aki can feel his brother’s arousal like a mirror of his own. The heat makes him groan as much as the friction, the dizzy awareness that Shima is as ready for this as he is; and when he moves it’s to shove closer, to pin Shima flush against the door with so much force that it knocks the breath from his brother’s lungs and leaves him gasping for air while Aki leans in hard against him, rocking his hips forward to grind himself against the outline of Shima’s arousal hard inside his pants. Shima’s lashes flutter, his lips part on a soundless exhale; and then he’s pulling Aki towards him, urging the other into impossible closeness, and Aki presses into him like a wave breaking over a beach, as if he’s trying to find all the ways their bodies fit together by touch instead of sight.

“Shima,” Aki says, or means to say; but it comes out as a groan, an echo of all those fantasies left unvoiced, bitten back to guilty silence in the tension of his throat. It’s intoxicating, now, just to taste the syllables, to know the feel of them on his tongue without any attempt to hold them back; he can’t help but offer them again, lower and hotter, resonating far down in the depths of his chest as he rocks roughly forward against Shima in front of him. “ _Shima_.”

“Aki,” Shima says, but his voice sounds different than Aki’s ever heard it before, like it’s breaking open at the seams, like some measure of the other’s composure is coming unravelled as fast as he speaks. His fingers tighten at the back of Aki’s head, his thumb slides farther through Aki’s hair. “What--” Shima closes his mouth, shuts his eyes for a moment; Aki can see him swallow as he fights for composure. “What do you want?”

Aki frowns. “ _What_?” The question seems inane, under the circumstances; he wonders dizzily if Shima doesn’t want a confession from him, if the present moment isn’t enough to clarify his desire. “What do you mean? I want _you_ , is that all you--”

“No,” Shima says, shaking his head to underscore his negation. “What do you want me to _do_?” He blinks, bringing his gaze back up to Aki’s face; his eyes are very dark, darker than Aki’s ever seen them before. Aki wonders if his own are as blown-open on heat as his brother’s. “I’ll do whatever you want.” His lashes dip, his throat works on a swallow. “Anything you’ve thought about me doing to you.”

Aki’s breath stalls for a moment. He can feel it catch in his chest, can feel it knot around his ribs to steal his voice; for a heartbeat his vision blurs, his focus giving way to a surge of heat as weeks, months, years of fantasies rush over him at once. Shima lying across his bed, knees spread wide and clothes disheveled and breath coming fast in his chest; Shima pressed down against the sheets, head turned to the side and glasses knocked loose as he gasps for air in time with Aki thrusting hard into him. Shima on Aki’s lap, rocking in against him while Aki clutches his hips, or holding Aki down to the bed with a hand pressing at the other’s throat while he drives smooth strokes into Aki’s body with his fingers. Aki’s whole body flexes tight on want, on the array of options so suddenly available to him; and his fingers curl against the door, his hand tightening to a fist bracing him up, and he forces himself to gasp a breath and answer.

“Down,” he says, and pulls at Shima’s hip to urge him to motion, to push him towards the floor. “On your knees.”

It’s half an experiment. Aki’s heart is racing from the friction of Shima’s mouth on his, his hands are shaking even as he braces at Shima’s hip; he’s more than ready for Shima to refuse, to frown and reject the suggestion as quickly as Aki offers it. But Shima drops instantly, like Aki’s words are enough to sap the strength from his legs, and then he’s on his knees in front of the other and Aki is blinking in shock, disoriented by Shima’s sudden movement until it takes him a moment to duck his head and look down at the other. Shima’s kneeling at Aki’s feet, caught in the space between Aki’s hips and the door behind him; and he’s reaching out without hesitating at all in bringing his hands to work the front of Aki’s jeans free of their fastenings.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Aki gasps. “ _Shima_.”

“Like this?” Shima asks, framing the words before he glances up at Aki over him again. His expression is still calm, his voice smoothed back to level; the only indication of the heat Aki can see straining so visibly at the front of the other’s pants is the faintest flush staining across his cheeks, the tiniest tremor at the curve of his lips. He looks steady, certain in what he’s doing even though Aki can feel his own heart racing itself wild in his chest on the adrenaline surging so fever-bright through his veins, and for a brief moment Aki wonders which of them is actually in control of the moment, even if Shima is on his knees and submitting to Aki’s requests. “This is what you mean, right?”

Aki swallows hard. “Fuck,” he says, and uncurls his fist at the door so he can brace himself flat with his palm against the support. “Yeah.” It’s embarrassing the way his voice skips high in his throat, the way that one word turns into almost a question around the strain on his tone; but Shima just ducks his head into a nod, as if Aki had calmly agreed instead of dragging confirmation from the tension winding higher in his veins with every beat of his heart.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, and then he’s pulling Aki’s fly open and Aki’s heart is racing to impossible speed, he can’t find his breath for the sudden awareness of Shima in front of him, of Shima’s hands on his hips, of Shima’s gaze on his -- and then Shima’s fingers slide up and around, his palm dips down and into the weight of Aki’s open jeans, and Aki makes a raw, helpless sound and rocks himself forward hard, without any chance at all to hold back the involuntary reaction that comes with Shima’s hand pressing the thin of his boxers close to his flushed-hard cock.

“Like that,” Shima says, but it’s not a question, and Aki doesn’t try to answer. It’s enough that Shima’s hand is against him, the weight of the other’s palm bearing down against the aching want in him and the grip of the other’s fingers tightening into almost-a-hold around him; enough that Shima’s head is ducked down, and his attention is fixed on his hand, his whole focus tied up in the fit of his fingers against Aki’s body. His lips are barely parted, his breathing coming at such a pace that Aki can hear it tangling in time with his own desperate inhales; and then Shima lifts his free hand, and slides his fingers under Aki’s boxers, and pulls the other’s clothes down in a single elegant motion.

“ _Oh_ ,” Aki blurts, “ _fuck_ ” but Shima isn’t waiting for his reaction. He’s moving immediately, lifting his hand away from the fabric of Aki’s clothes so he can reach out for bare skin instead, so he can curl the strength of his fingers in and around Aki’s cock. Aki’s breath rushes out of him in a shaky whimper, his legs flex to buck his hips forward in helpless pursuit of more; and Shima’s leaning in, and opening his mouth, and then his lips are catching to slide in and around the head of Aki’s cock.

Aki doesn’t know what sound he makes. It’s something entirely involuntary, spilling up from the tension knotting low in his stomach more than from anything rational left amidst the scatter of his thoughts; he doesn’t think about how loud he’s being, or about how far his voice will carry past the shut door, or even how much like Shima’s name that particular moan will sound to someone else. He just makes a noise, sudden and hot and desperate; and his free hand is coming out, his fingers stretching to reach for Shima’s hair before he can think of it, before he can stop the action. His hand lands in his brother’s hair, his touch knocks Shima’s glasses off-center, and then they move as one, Shima tipping in at the same time Aki bucks forward to thrust farther into the heat of the other’s mouth. Shima chokes a breath in the back of his throat, a reflexive response to having his mouth suddenly full with an unexpected intrusion; but Aki is groaning encouragement even as they draw back and apart for Shima to struggle himself back into his ordinary breathing.

“Sorry,” Aki says, while Shima still has his head turned aside so he can cough into his hand; but he sounds as distracted as he feels, and he doesn’t bother trying to find true regret from the heat spurring him forward for more as quickly as Shima lets his hand drop and turns back towards him. Aki’s fingers tighten at Shima’s hair, his arm flexes to urge the other back in; but Shima’s moving as quickly, reaching out to brace Aki’s hips between his hands so he can guide the other’s motion in towards him. His lips part, his breath rushes hot across flushed skin, and Aki is groaning again as fast as his hips come forward, giving helpless voice to the surge of heat that rushes out to fill all his veins with steam at once.

Shima is focused on what he’s doing. He keeps his hands steady at Aki’s hips, keeps his head angled down so Aki can slide smoothly forward to fill the other’s mouth and press in over his tongue; all Aki can see of his expression is the dark of his glasses and the feathery weight of lashes shadowing his eyes. But that’s enough all on its own, and it’s enough for Aki to keep his head tipped down and his gaze fixed on Shima, to watch the impossible reality of Shima’s lips sliding down over his cock and feel the purr of the friction run up his spine with every forward thrust against the heat of the other’s tongue. Shima finds a rhythm with impressive rapidity, between the tension of his hands at Aki’s hips and the press of his lips hard against Aki’s cock; and all Aki has left to do is give in, is brace himself against the door with one hand and clutch at Shima’s hair with the other and let himself rock into a rhythm that rises like the tide in his veins, that sweeps out to overwhelm all his insecurities, all his uncertainties, all his long-held fears with the simple pleasure of this: Shima kneeling in front of him, hands at Aki’s skin and mouth wet on Aki’s body, while Aki himself stares as if transfixed and feels arousal climbing up his spine like Shima’s pulling it out of him by force.

Aki wishes he could last longer. It would be nice, he thinks, to draw this out, to linger in the heat of Shima’s mouth and the grip of his hands long enough to satisfy the years of painful pining he’s been keeping inside the silent span of his thoughts. But it’s too much, too impossible to believe and too immediately, unavoidably real, until Aki’s breathing hard with the edge of inevitability as soon as Shima finds a rhythm, until Aki can feel himself coming apart as quickly as he leans in towards the support of the door in front of him. He can’t keep himself up, can’t even hold onto the strength enough to brace himself steady; he tips in against the door, pressing his head to the flat of it as a replacement for the hand sliding away and down to reach for Shima’s hair, to clutch in a desperate attempt for stability from the dark of the strands. Aki’s fingernails catch at Shima’s scalp, scratch with what must be painful force against the other’s skin; but Shima doesn’t protest even by a sound in the back of his throat, just tightens his grip on Aki’s hips and moves closer, faster, speeding his rhythm and drawing the gasp of Aki’s breathing along with it. Aki can hear his inhales straining to whimpers in the back of his throat, can feel incoherent pleading for relief starting in the depths of his chest; and against Shima’s hair, in the dark locks so perfectly matched to his own, his fingers curl and tighten to fists more desperate than demanding.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, hearing his voice skip to cracking heights in his chest and utterly unable to even attempt to ease it back to his usual range. “ _Shima_.”

Shima’s lashes flutter, his head tips up fractionally; when he opens his eyes it’s to look up over the tops of his glasses, his gaze cutting up through the shadow of his lashes to fix on Aki’s face. He looks intent, as focused as he does when he’s studying, as if he’s turning his whole attention to the task at hand and everything else might as well not exist at all for the moment. It makes Aki’s skin go hot, burns fire into his veins and fills his chest with pressure, and when he speaks it’s wholly unplanned, a spill of sound carried as much by the drag of Shima’s mouth over him as by his own intention.

“Shima,” he says, and his fingers twist tighter, his breathing catches higher. “Don’t stop, Shima, _don’t_ stop, I’m...I’m--” as his hips jerk forward, his motion stuttering free of Shima’s carefully constructed rhythm to force him closer, deeper, _farther_. Shima’s hold at his hips eases, goes slack and submissive as Aki takes over the pace of their movement together; but he doesn’t look away, barely even blinks to interrupt the fixed heat of the gaze he’s casting up at Aki’s face. Aki’s mouth is open, he realizes distantly, his lips parted on the heat of his breathing and his face flushed out of all composure, and for a brief, strange moment he feels himself laid bare, coming undone as surely as if Shima were kneeling over him and pinning him down instead of on his knees giving in to everything Aki wants, everything Aki has ever thought about taking from him.

“Fuck,” Aki says again, “Shima” and his hips come forward, his cock drives all the way back into Shima’s mouth, and he comes in a rush of heat, a spasm of electricity he can feel course down his spine and flex into every muscle in his body in a long, helpless tremor. His eyes close, his throat tenses on a moan, his fingers seize; and Shima’s there, unflinching, unmoving, his hands at Aki’s hips to hold the other steady through his orgasm and his mouth hot and wet and warm around Aki’s twitching cock. Aki’s gasping, panting for air as his whole body shudders with the force of his orgasm; and through it all, in the midst of the heat rippling through him, he can feel Shima’s gaze still steady on him, the other’s focus fixed on him like Aki’s coming just for him, or like he’s memorizing the tremor of the other’s pleasure for future reference. The thought jolts a last spasm of heat through Aki’s body, bucks his hips forward into a final reflexive thrust; and then he gasps an exhale, and blinks hard to bring himself back to reality, and refocuses his eyes on Shima in front of him. There’s a moment of eye contact, as Aki’s vision clears from the blur of heat running through him and Shima holds that unflinching stare; and then Shima blinks, and looks down, and Aki is left to shiver with aftershocks as Shima pulls away from the other’s softening cock and lifts a hand to wipe at the damp clinging to his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“Fuck,” Aki says, sounding approximately as shaky as he feels. He has to struggle to ease his fingers from Shima’s hair, has to consciously think through the effort of pressing his hand to the door to push himself up from the boneless slump he’s adopted against the support; in front of him Shima is far more composed, licking his lips clean with careful attention before he reaches to pull Aki’s clothes back into order. By the time Aki is certain of his footing again Shima has tidied them both and is pushing to his feet, unfolding from his kneeling position with as much grace as he dropped into it, and then he’s back in front of Aki, his eyes dark and lips red and expression calmly composed, and Aki can’t help but look at the curve of his mouth, at the wet heat of the other’s lips barely parted on his breathing. He can see the friction of his cock marked out in flushed color against Shima’s lower lip, can imagine the damp press of the other’s mouth with all the vivid clarity of experience, with all the detail of the borrowed heat still coursing through his veins. Shima’s tongue was pressing close against him, Shima’s throat was just working around the hot spill of Aki’s pleasure into his mouth; and Aki groans in the back of his throat, feeling raw and helpless to the fresh surge of desire that hits him at the thought as he leans in to catch the part of Shima’s lips with his own once again. Shima’s mouth is softer than it was, his lips swollen and flushed with heat under Aki’s; and then Aki licks into the wet of his mouth, tastes the hot friction of Shima’s tongue against his, and there’s salt, there, a clinging bitterness filling the inside of the other’s mouth that makes Aki’s blood go hot all over again, as if he’s seconds instead of hours away from another orgasm.

“Fuck,” Aki growls against Shima’s mouth, feeling the word tear rough in his throat. “You taste like me” and he’s kissing Shima harder, delving farther into the other’s mouth as if to replace the slide of his cock with the pressure of his tongue instead. Shima parts his lips to the pressure, giving in to Aki’s attack without any indication of the slightest resistance, and Aki lets his hand fall to the front of Shima’s pants to press his palm hard against the pressure of the other’s arousal still stiff and hot with unsatisfied want.

He’s less polished about his movements than Shima. Shima made kneeling look like a dance, unfastened Aki’s jeans with as much graceful dexterity as if he’s been undressing his twin his entire life; but Aki is still shaky with the heat of his own orgasm, and too caught by the pressure of Shima’s lips against him and the taste of his come clinging to Shima’s tongue to pull away and spare a glance for what he’s doing with his fingers. It doesn’t matter. It’s hardly a complicated proposition to get Shima’s belt undone, barely a challenge to work open the button one-handed; and if the zipper sticks as Aki drags it down, well, he only needs enough space to get his hand down inside Shima’s loosened clothing anyway. He presses his hand in under Shima’s shirt, working his way down to bare skin before angling in and under to slide inside the elastic of the other’s waistband and down to that flushed-hot skin, and then his fingers brush hot resistance, and Shima makes a low, shadowed sound Aki can taste like sugar against his lips.

“Shima,” Aki says, growling the other’s name into something of a promise, now, an inversion of the plea it was before; and he curls his fingers in around his brother’s cock, and jerks up roughly over him. Shima groans and grabs at Aki’s shoulder as if to steady himself, as if he’s struggling to keep to his feet; Aki can see the tension of the other’s body arch him back against the door, can hear the rattle of the weight in its frame as Shima collapses back against it. Aki’s leaning in too, following Shima back as fast as the other moves, until his shoulders are all but pressing Shima’s to the door, until they’re breathing the same gasping inhales between them; and at their hips, between the angle of their bodies, he keeps moving, jerking Shima off with the rough haste he always takes with himself, when he’s rushing himself towards relief before he gets caught in the middle of yet another illicit fantasy. But this isn’t a fantasy, this isn’t his imagination; this is reality, hot and slick and humid, Shima gasping into his mouth and Aki’s skin prickling with heat and against his palm, under his fingers, Shima’s cock swelling harder and hotter with every stroke of motion Aki takes over him. Aki tightens his fingers, presses in hard with his thumb; and in front of him Shima’s head tips back, Shima’s throat strains over a groan of heat that spills up from the depths of his chest.

“Shima,” Aki says again, panting the other’s name into something almost a prayer as he feels the beginnings of anticipation tighten in his chest and strain at his shoulders. Shima’s lashes are dipping over his eyes, his gaze is melting out-of-focus; Aki can see the effort each breath is costing the other, can feel the rhythm of Shima’s heart pounding with reckless speed enough to match his own. He feels dizzy, shaky, like he’s rushing towards his own orgasm instead of pushing Shima towards his, like Shima’s reactions are bleeding over and into his own as the line between them blurs and evaporates. There’s just them, together, their breathing catching on itself and their bodies pressing close, their hands grabbing for traction against each other as they press closer, nearer, as the distance between them shrinks smaller and smaller with every shudder in Shima’s shoulders, with every pull of Aki’s hand.

“Ah,” Shima gasps, and Aki breathes in sharply, filling his lungs with the note of that sound at Shima’s lips. Shima’s head falls back entirely against the door, his eyes flutter shut; Aki watches his throat work over sound, watches the thrum of vibration against the line of the other’s neck before it breaks free. “ _Aki_ ” and it’s a gasp, it’s a prayer, it’s an acknowledgment that Aki has craved over long years of silence; and Shima’s expression goes slack, the strain in him gives way, and he shudders himself into orgasm under the grip of Aki’s hand around him. Aki feels Shima come over his fingers, feels the sticky heat catch at his wrist and cling to his skin; and he keeps watching the other’s face, staring with absolute focus at each tremor of pleasure in Shima’s expression as he draws them free until the other finally collapses into the boneless weight of relief against the door of their room.

They’re both quiet for a moment. Aki feels like he’s been running, like he’s finally crossed some finish line and is left gasping for air to fill the ache in his overworked lungs; Shima doesn’t even open his eyes for a long moment, just stays where he is leaning against the bedroom door and letting it take the whole of his weight. Aki stares at him, looking at the part of the other’s lips, at the flush across those cheekbones that so perfectly mirror his own, at the dark weight of lashes feathery behind the cover of Shima’s glasses; and then he ducks his head in, and leans forward to press his forehead to the door over Shima’s shoulder while he breathes past the pressure of affection in his chest, the desire only converted into something softer and heavier by the immediate physical relief he’s so recently attained. Aki can hear Shima take a breath, can hear the catch of the other’s breathing as Shima’s lips almost touch his ear; and then motion, a rustle of clothing as Shima lifts his arm to wrap around Aki’s waist. For a heartbeat the contact is gentle, careful and tentative; and then Aki slides his hand free of Shima’s clothes, and reaches for the other’s waist, and he doesn’t know which of them tightens his hold on the other first and doesn’t care. It’s enough that Shima’s arm around him is pulling him closer, that Aki’s gripping a handful of the back of Shima’s shirt without any regard for the sticky fingerprints his touch leaves, that they’re both clinging to each other with as much intensity as a drowning man looking for salvation. Aki lets his hand on the door slide away to clutch at Shima instead, to capture the other in the span of his arms and hold on as tight as he can, but Shima is already holding to him with so much force Aki can barely catch his breath. Aki tips in closer, pinning Shima back against the door of their room like he’s trying to press them into the same space, and against the back of his head Shima’s fingers slide up, Shima’s palm curls in against his hair to hold Aki breathlessly close against him. Aki doesn’t know which of them is holding on tighter, can’t take a guess at whose desperation is winning out between them; it’s a strangely comforting thought, that for all the other ways in which they’re different they are so perfectly matched in this.

Neither of them move for a long, long time, but Aki doesn’t mind. The room feels far less like a cage when he has Shima in it with him.


End file.
